Eleven Shots and Counting
by ShadowedSoulSpirit
Summary: A domino effect was created untimely that day. A chain reaction was started with no hopes of stopping. There was no end to a game played by a Russian. By the finale, a war had been fought. Death had sung his songs of claiming. A darkness will last forever as fallen countries are claimed not only by death. This is a story I didn't work very hard on, but was in a gory mood.


**Eleven Shots and Counting**

**An Axis Powers: Hetalia story.**

**Please keep in mind this story is not supposed to have a plot. It was intentionally made that way.**

Wails crack the air in a bittersweet symphony. So much sadness mingled into a single voice shattered by grief. The salty tears fall like water drops on a stormy morning. It was so pointless. Why had this happen? A cold, pale face is held between two hands, a complete spectrum away in temperature. Blond hair that was disheveled is quickly smoothed back into the place he knows it belongs. The life drips from his sapphire eyes, leaving them dull. Etched on his face is the same expression he had the moment he left this world: regret. What motivation he had beforehand is erased, now replaced with regret because his life was not the only one on the line. The young country bends down, savoring the little warm that still remains in the older nation's body. Tears patter onto his face, smearing his cheeks with the pain of lose. Sputtering, the younger wails loudly, rising above the other pitiful cries. He had never felt so much pain retch at his heart, clawing at his throat and escaping in the form of a scream. Looking at the lifeless face, drained of the beauty he could recall only moments ago, a memory clicks in his mind, reminding him of a more sorrowful event. But he saw resemblance. An older replica of the boy he knew as a young country. He had been alive all this time. Not anymore. Grief ripples through him. An anguished cry soon follows after a name he had since forgotten.

"Holy Rome! Germany! Germany come back!" He throws himself on Germany's chest, feeling the cold rush of blood drenching his clothes.

"Germany please…" Italy begs, pressing his head into the cold flesh of the country, "You promised…you promised…"

A replicated scene, only yards away, mirrors the agony of such an unthinkable event. A country is held in the embrace of another. His short blond hair is a static mess due to the younger country rubbing his cheek soothingly over the soft hair. His eyes are closed in a sort of peaceful resolve, never to show the world of his glittering green orbs. His thick eyebrows are no longer creased with stress or worry, anger or pain. His pale face is defined by lines of scarlet red that blossom down his chin. Like Germany, the man mimicked the way he died. His chest is drenched in the heavy blood, transferring over to the younger's jacket. Glasses clattered to the ground as he grips the dead nation tighter, pleading silently for this sick nightmare to end. Let it be over. Let it be over!

"Arthur…" He whimpers into the hair, burrowing his face as close as he can, trying to envelope England's cold body in warmth.

America's shoulders shook, but he refused to let the tears spill. It was all a sick dream; an agonizing nightmare. He would wake up eventually in the comfort of his own room.

"Hey…Arthur…England…Wake up okay?" He whispers.

England's eyes do not flutter open. He, like Germany, is dead.

The final duo is both filled with the warmth of life. The younger country is on the older's lap, allowing him to smother him in brotherly love. His black hair was unevenly cut from a near miss of a blade, causing his face to be asymmetrically framed. His eyes are not closed from death able hands, but from the inability to hold back the tears he tries to hide. The other, whose dark hair is collected in a ponytail, hums old songs that he had taught the country at a young age. They had not lost each other, but had lost close friends as a result. China and Japan wallow through the breath taking grief together as they appreciate the beating hearts in their chests. Unlike Italy and America, they have escaped the worse bulk of grief they will have to endure with someone they cherish.

Why oh why did this have to happen?

It all started earlier that morning. A chain of events was set off, and like a domino effect, could not be stopped. The lust for power was born, and an undying hatred alongside it. A story of how one countries determination leads to the destruction of not only one nation but two, and left two others shattered in their wake.

_A war has been fought._

_Death has sung._

_The darkness will last forever._

Footsteps pound against the floor like a third death march approaching. But all the other countries are so enveloped in grief that they failed to notice the approaching region. He screeches to a halt, panting heavily from the excision; only moments before he had got China and Japan's message that was more like a cry for help than a formal declaration of the events. Prussia ran as fast as he could to the meeting room for all nations, because that's where they said help was needed. He saw those eyes before anything else; those lifeless eyes that were once swimming with a passionate resolve. The Italian refused to shut his eyes because he wanted to gaze at them for as long as he could. Prussia's heart drops in a sudden flurry of anger. He had been late! His eyes lock onto the back of the American's head, which is currently rocking England's body back and forth. He knew instantly America had been the one to do it; the one that snuffed out his life like a candle flame! Marching over, Prussia reaches for a gun he kept stashed in his pocket.

America didn't have time to react. He didn't have time as Prussia pressed the barrel to his head and pulled the trigger. His body slumps forehead, shielding England's body. His arms were still around him like it was some sort of embrace. The deafening recoil of the gun wail silences Italy, China and Japan. He drops the gun by their dead bodies, filling not a sliver of remorse, and kneels by his brother's side. Oh Germany. Oh his precious little brother.

China gathers himself, gently removing Japan from his lap and stands up. How dare he march in a kill his ally! He sprints over to the gun Prussia had left, snatching it up. He had never truly used a gun before, but it should be easy. Pointing the weapon at the region, he squeezes the trigger. Japan's split second instincts cause him to jump in front of him, thinking China was aiming for the grieving Italian. The bullet tears through his throat, since China's aim had been high. A gaping hole spewing blood is left in its wake. Japan's face pales in pain as he coughs up a little blood. The ground rushes up to meet him as China stands, shocked. Sickly, the island nation tried to breathe, gasping softly as no air can make it to his lungs. His white uniform was beginning to stain as more blood escapes from his body, leaving him light headed. It was only a matter of minutes before he died of suffocation. China stays completely frozen, unable to react.

"Japan!" Italy cries, seeing his fallen ally as well; but he cannot get himself to clamor away from Germany's body.

China begins to shake. Trembling speratically, a million thoughts tangle into one. Prussia. Prussia. Prussia. His mind snatches onto anything to ease the pain that is crashing into his system. He squeezes the trigger again. Blood explodes from the regions chest, dripping onto his brother's face as the bullet severed an artery. Prussia shields his mouth with his hand, nearly puking up blood. His brother's face blurs for a moment before his back connects with the ground. Damn China.

China giggles softly as Prussia coughs, painting the ground with the shade of red. All mind activity ceases to exist. He is now moving on instinct.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Over and over, he nearly empties the magazine as he rips bullets through not only Prussia's body, but Italy's. Italy manages to lie beside Germany so he doesn't crush him. His body shakes from the pain, but he looks into his eyes one last time.

"Ti amo Holy Rome…Ti amo Germany…" He mummers, placing a tender kiss on his cheek as his last breath escapes him.

China's laughter rings throughout the room. It is the only noise remaining the meeting room. Looking down at his kid brother, his laughter never ceases. Japan's eyebrows were creased in pain, and his mouth was open like he was trying to consume one last breath. Blood leaks from his wound, creating a pool of blood around the young nation. Pressing the cold barrel to his own head, he gave a salute to his fallen comrades, and left the world with a bang.

Down the hallway, several countries were running for the room the massacre had occurred in.

"I heard gun fire, da?" Russia asks, looking to his ally France.

"I believe I heard some. I'm not sure why either. It should just be the other allies right?" France responds, locking gazes with the country. A shiver runs up his spine, an ominous warning of impending danger that makes France look away.

"Oh do I get to come to?" Little Sealand pesters.

"No I'm afraid not. This could be serious." Austria points out, sending the young soon-to-be country away.

Russia, France, and Austria burst into the room, followed by Sealand who completely disobeyed Austria's order. The small country emits a scream, cowering away from the scene.

"Oh God." France covers his mouth.

America embraces England, even in death like he did as a young boy to his big brother. A single tear trickles down his face, frozen in place. The back of his hair is stained unmistakably with blood, which is also evident on England's chest. Japan lies on his side, looking like a simple picture. Blood gushes from his throat sickly, sticking to the cheek that was laying in it. China's body lay close to it, the side of his face completely obliterated. The chuckle had died on his lips, but a smile still graces his mouth. Prussia is gripping his brother's sleeve like he was trying to pull him up. Blood escapes in several places and the same can be said about Italy. The Italian is nuzzled up against the German's side despite the blood that collects there and mixes with his own. The entire Axis Powers is dead. Half the Allies are deceased.

"Such a mess…" Russia mummers shaking his head.

"Italy!" France runs to his brother's side, removing him from Germany's body as he shakes him. Italy's head lulls back and forth in time with each shakes. His eyes widen when he realized that he was dead; when all of them were dead.

Sealand wails pathetically, witnessing a horror he should no see. France notices the gun that China had used. Lifting it up, he removed the magazine. No bullets. Searching the German, he found his own weapon. This one had four remaining. After he was done, three remained, and his body was sent into slumber alongside Italy. Chuckling at his comrade's madness, Russia retrieves the gun while Austria collects young Sealand in his arms.

"Considering I'm the only Ally left…I believe it would be a waste not to concur these dead countries." Russia notices.

"That sick." Austria mutters under his breath, cradling Sealand softly.

"Starting with you."

_Bang. Bang._

Russia smiles as the bodies drop to the floor.

"Look at this. All ripe for the taking. Any country I want practically. China…Japan…Germany…Italy…America...England…Prussi a…Austria…Sealand…France… which one should I start with?" He asks himself, immune to the fact that countries lie lifeless around him.

Why, oh why, did this have to happen?

Was it even necessary?

_A war has been fought._

_Death has sung._

_The darkness will last forever._

Why stop there? There are even more countries he can take! But of course, the Russian will need a new gun.

He only had one bullet remaining after all.

He chuckles quietly, leaving the meeting room.

"Oh Lithuania~ Let's play some Russian Roulette, da?"

How many shots do you think rang that day?

Eleven and counting, because Russia has yet to reach the end of his game.

**It's just one of those days you feel like killing people…lol**

**-Soul Spirit-**


End file.
